


Compromising Positions

by Shiredancer (SallyJ)



Category: The Sentinel (TV)
Genre: Challenge Response, Gen, TS Concrit - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2020-01-06 04:11:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18380702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SallyJ/pseuds/Shiredancer
Summary: The guys have to do some serious compromising over a matter of -- possibly less than great -- urgency.  (Written for the Chatzy Concrit #7 prompt “Oh no you don't, Sandburg!”.)





	Compromising Positions

“Oh no you don’t, Sandburg!” Long fingers reached from behind and grasped a handful of flannel to yank a very tired, very thirsty, and very sneaky anthropologist from the depths of the retro refrigerator.

_Aw hell, damn those Sentinel ears anyway!_ Blair turned sheepishly and raised both hands in a classic pose of surrender.

“Yeah, yeah, you called dibs on the last beer, I remember. But, man! Jim, you have no idea what kind of day I’ve had! I caught some twerp in my freshman survey class plagiarizing straight from a text I know almost by heart. I can tell you the _exact_ chapter he took it from. I mean, what a dope – how did he even think he’d get away with it? So I had to go through the whole protocol of reporting it, and then the paperwork, and the verification with the prof and the chair, and…”

“I get it, Sandburg, but,” Jim shrugged and tried to look helpless about the situation, “dibs are dibs, and you can’t argue with an honor code like that. And _your_ rotten day can’t even begin to compare to _mine_. Four witness interviews, one older crime scene, and another new one with fingerprints and hairs everywhere, because that one, Chief, involved three – count ‘em, three – dogs on the loose, messing everything up. Not to mention the damned paperwork after. With no help from you, I might add.” He gave his best don’t-mess-with-the-hardworking-cop glare as he reached around Blair to snag the last beautiful, glorious, thirst-quenching bottle of Cascade’s finest craft brew. He couldn’t quite hide the smirk as he leaned back against the kitchen island and popped the cap.

Sandburg thought fast. “Hey, before you throw back the whole bottle, how about having it with dinner? I’ve got handmade pasta from Pascucci’s on the stove there, and really, I was only going to pull the Bolognese sauce out of the fridge just now to go with it. Salad’s already tossed, bread’s warming in the oven – dinner’s ready to serve, man.” He eyed the bottle in Jim’s hand while Jim pursed his lips, gazing at the ceiling in feigned thought. “But there’s a price...”

Jim turned the glare up a few notches. “Yeah? Does it have anything to do with this sublime example of the deepest, darkest stout this side of the Atlantic? Forget it!” He took a long, satisfied sniff at the mouth of the bottle, watching Sandburg the whole time. “Mmmmm… it’s got a great hint of chocolate, with undertones of perfectly roasted malt and just the right touch of unmalted barley… You know, Sandburg, I can just enjoy this right now and grab a big, greasy Wonderburger after.”

Blair was almost drooling, and felt something perilously close to a whine struggling to surface. “Jimmmmm! God, just kill a guy, why dontcha? You know, we _could_ meet halfway on this.”

By now Jim was trying not to laugh, and had already decided to stop torturing the poor kid and offer up the damn bottle as an act of contrition. With his curiosity piqued, he raised his eyebrows and waited.

***

Ten minutes later, with a perfect spaghetti feast spread before them and two glasses filled halfway with the shared beer, Jim sighed. “If you ever tell anybody that I let you talk me into drinking half a beer from a glass like a little old lady who only sips it on Sunday, you’re dead meat, Sandburg.”

Blair just smiled.


End file.
